


binding energy (just old light)

by coffeelouis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Lots of it, Smuuuuuut, and harry's his cute lil tutee, but it's interesting i promise, i got carried away, i promise there isn't too much chemistry stuff, idk why i threw aiden in here but weyhey, lmao oops????, louis is v smart :))), maybe a lil too much, not in the first one or two, ok that's about it, ok that's it bye, smutty smut smut, this was supposed to be a lil thing but it turned into a big thing, w/e here u go, well mostly in later chapters tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-07 15:32:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1904301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeelouis/pseuds/coffeelouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>harry never thought he'd spend another minute of his life studying science after his last biology course in secondary, but lo and behold, here he is at the university of cambridge, maybe, probably, <em>definitely</em> failing his first-year chemistry class. whoever convinced him, a literature and philosophy student, that he should 'expand his educational and academic horizons' can choke on a blueberry. or something.</p>
<p>or, the one where harry hates chemistry, louis loves it, and niall was supposed to be the tutor, but his research team makes a shocking new discovery and that's how harry ends up in a messy, cluttered flat with a graduate student. and god, harry's never seen eyes like that before. if this is what a chemical reaction is, harry never needs to study again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ok well like i mentioned in the tags this got way out of hand and it has become a monster so here read the monster enjoy the monster
> 
> this is really an intro chapter so yep
> 
> OH an important thing: some of the professors (i've slightly altered their names) are based on real people at cambridge, so there's that. and the bits about research are based on real research. and the coffee shop exists!!
> 
>  
> 
> _(is it obvious how bad i am at this)_

“Don’t forget to have the analysis of Horowitz’s research with you when we next meet for class on Monday. Late submissions will not be accepted.”

There was a loud cacophony of papers shuffling and chairs scraping against wooden floors. Harry stood up. His last class of the day was over, and it was only just after noon.

“Mr. Styles, may I see you at my desk for a moment, please.”

He stifled a groan, gathering his pen and notebook before reluctantly trudging to the front of the room. “Yes, Professor Keeler?”

The man, late forties and balding, was packing up a leather briefcase. “I’m confident you are well aware of your less than satisfactory performance in my class thus far.”

“I know, sir; I wanted to apologise―”

“Chemistry, and thermodynamics in particular, are not easy subjects, I understand that. But as an undergraduate at such a distinguished university, I must say I expected improvement by now. I know you spend most of your time in the literature and philosophy departments; however, you elected to take this course, and I will not hesitate to make it clear that I hold my students to a higher standard than the one you’ve been meeting. Is there something impeding your studies that I should know about? Of course, I will try to the best of my abilities to help, if there is anything I can do.”

Harry shook his head vigorously, blood rushing into his cheeks. “No, sir, thank you. I’m just struggling is all. I was hoping―”

“I hate to seem frank, Mr. Styles, but it might suit you best to return to the departments and studies with which you feel most comfortable. There is no doubt in my mind that you are a very intelligent young gentleman―I have read your papers; you write wonderfully―and I would like your transcripts to reflect that intelligence. I’m afraid I can’t say they will, though, if you carry on in this course.”

Harry sucked in a sharp breath. “I was hoping to get a tutor.”

The professor hesitated, briefcase in hand. “A tutor?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve spent all my life studying English; it’s what I’m good at. But now that I’m at university, I want to take courses that provide me with a more well-rounded education. I know I’m rubbish at science, Professor, but I...I’m really hoping to finish your class.”

The older man’s eyes met Harry’s before trailing down to the oak surface of his desk. He picked up a pen. “Well, I hope you’ve put thought into it. I’d normally be happy to help, but I just don’t have the time at this point in the semester.” He scrawled on a small notepad. “I’m going to refer you to one of my research assistants, Mr. Niall Horan. He’s a member of the university’s last graduating class and is now working on his doctoral studies in theoretical and mathematical chemistry.” Tearing the sheet off, he thrust it in Harry’s direction. “Give him a ring; I’m sure he’d be willing to tutor you in his spare time.”

The feeling of being a disappointment was stuck in Harry’s throat. “Thank you so much, sir,” he croaked out feebly. “It really means a lot. I’ll call Mr. Horan straight away.”

“He won’t be available until four o’clock at the earliest; he’s in the lab now.” Professor Keeler began to cross the room to the door. “Best of luck, Mr. Styles. Keep revising.”

“I will, sir. Thank you.”

Harry waved as the man pushed out the door. It shut with a loud thud behind him, and Harry was left alone in the classroom with a rucksack slung over his shoulder and a slip of yellow notepaper in his hand.

 _Niall Horan_ , he thought as he left. _An Irishman_.

* * * * * *

So, Harry killed time.

He convinced himself that he deserved a four-hour break and went straight to the nearest coffee shop, Fitzbillies. It was right up Trumpington Street, and he was all too guilty of making the short walk after his lectures in the Chemistry Department each week. He sat in the front window and ordered his afternoon tea and a scone with jam and cream, and he didn’t spend a single second thinking about chemistry.

Instead, he took out his tattered copy of Paradise Lost that his sister had bought him for his fifteenth birthday. By that time he’d read nearly every book in the house and had taken to literature from the 17th century. Gemma, a drama student at Queen Mary, had found the old edition at a used book store in London’s East End. He’d read it four times since, and this fifth go wouldn’t be his last.

He wasn’t quite sure what he liked so much about the poem, if he was honest. Harry wasn’t religious, and he had a few complaints to make of John Milton with regard to Eve’s role. If he had to give a reason, he thought maybe he’d cite Milton’s references to idolatry. _There is no need to build physical objects to experience the presence of God_ , the angel Michael explained to Adam. Harry liked that.

He lingered in the shop after he’d finished his tea. It had started to rain; he had neither a rain slicker nor an umbrella with him, and his dormitory was a good ten minute walk from the café. He fingered the slip of paper his professor had given him. He hoped this Niall Horan character wasn’t another one of those geniuses that would talk much too fast for Harry to be able to understand a word.

In the end, he dragged himself out of the warm, dry café and began his trek to the hall. By the time he got there, his shirt was soaked through and there were small lakes forming in the toes of his boots. He didn’t much mind, except for the way his hair stuck to the skin of his face and he couldn’t keep it out of his eyes.

Once he got inside, he stripped off his wet clothes, threw on a fresh pair of pants, and dried his hair with a towel. His roommate, Curtis, surely wouldn’t be back until after midnight. It was Friday, and Curtis was never home earlier than one a.m. on Fridays.

Harry picked up his mobile. He wasn’t sure why, but something made him hesitate. He needed this tutor; it was his last chance at passing chemistry. Part of him wondered, though, if Professor Keeler was right. Maybe he never should’ve tried the sciences in the first place.

Scolding himself, he pushed the hesitation away and dialed Niall’s number. It wasn’t yet four o’clock, but he hoped maybe the lad would have just a second to hear Harry’s request.

“Aye, who’s this?”

Harry balked. He’d forgotten how terrible he was at speaking on the phone. “Yes, hi, hello, I’m―I’m Harry. I mean, Styles―I’m Harry Styles. Sorry. I’m a student of―of Dr. Timothy Keeler’s?”

“Yes, hi, hello there, Styles Harry Styles!” Niall chuckled. “I’m Horan Niall Horan. How can I help you?”

Harry bit his lip. Even over the phone, the young man’s voice oozed confidence and cheer. “Well, erm, I’m in Dr. Keeler’s introduction to chemistry course, but I’m―I’m mainly in the English and Philosophy departments. I mean, that’s what I’m studying for my degree. I just wanted to―I’ve never been ace at science, but it’s so interesting, and I just want to know more about it. I know you’re―you’ve graduated? You’re doing research. Is this a bad time to call?”

The bloke chuckled. “No, Harry Styles, it’s not, but if you talk this slowly all the time, it will be. I do love a chat, but careful, mate, we could be here all night at the rate you’re goin’.”

Harry smiled nervously. His fingers fiddled with the bottoms of his pants. “I’m sorry. Dr. Keeler referred me to you. I’m looking for a tutor.”

“A tutor!” Niall exclaimed. “What was Ol’ Tim thinking? I study Chinese, not Chemistry!”

Harry nearly choked on his embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t―he said you were his research assistant, I thought―I suppose he must’ve been confused. Maybe he wrote down the wrong number―”

“Jesus,” Niall uttered. “I see I can’t muck around with ya, can I? I was only kidding, I don’t speak a bloody word of Chinese. Of course I’ll tutor you. I tutor another of Tim’s students on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and he always sends me about a boatload of you buggers before exams. What time is good for you?”

Harry’s ears were burning. “Oh, I didn’t know you tutored anyone else. I don’t want to bother you, especially if you already have another student you’re helping. I’m sure you’re very busy, I―”

Niall’s voice got breathier. “I’m going to let you in on a wee secret here, Harry, lad,” he said. “I’m a very busy person. I have a job, a research position, a tutee, and a paper I’m working on. You know why? Because I come from Ireland, and if we Irishmen don’t keep busy, we go mad. I’m talking lost-the-plot, off-the-walls mad here. So I’m more than happy to add you to my schedule, as long as you speak a little bit faster and you don’t apologise every third word. Otherwise you’ll get annoying. Is that well and good, then?”

“Yes,” Harry said immediately. “Yes, I’m sorry. I mean―nevermind. Yes, that’s clear. Thank you so much. What time is good for you?”

“My schedule changes rather often, but right now, I have a free bit of time between one and two o’clock tomorrow. How does that sound?”

Harry thought for a second. “Fine.”

“We’ll meet at the Chemistry Library, yeah? Where are you staying?”

“That’s fine, it’s not far. I’ll be there.”

“Deadly. One p.m. tomorrow; I’ve got to write that down. I’ll see you then, Styles Harry Styles. Bring a notebook, would you?”

“Yeah. Anything else?”

“Your brain, mate. Cheers.”

* * * * * *

Harry went to bed at nine o’clock.

It wasn’t that he was always so boring; he loved going out, honest. But some nights, there was a certain exhaustion that creeped silently into his bones, and when his head met the pillow, he couldn’t be bothered to lift it back up again.

In the morning Curtis was back, passed out on his mattress with his jaw hanging open, catching flies. He quite likely was naked; the covers only hid his bum, and his bare left leg stuck out to mid-thigh. Harry didn’t mind that―it was the stale stench of cheap beer that hung in a cloud over the room that got to him.

He walked down the hall to have a shower and when he came back, Curtis hadn’t moved an inch. So Harry dressed in silence, pulling on a pair of jeans and a (sort of) clean t-shirt.

For breakfast, he caught up with Aiden, his best friend since they met at an orientation session in July. Aiden was studying music composition and education, and the first thing Harry had noticed about him was his shoes. He’d been wearing Converse, one red and one black, the day they’d stumbled into each other. Harry had asked why after they’d spent an hour chatting. He couldn’t find the other two of each pair, Aiden had deadpanned. So he just wore the ones he had.

His utter disregard for norms had resonated with Harry, and he instantly took a liking to the lad. They’d had dinner in the dining hall that evening, having told their parents that they were comfortable on their own now. From then on, all of Harry’s uni anxieties had dissipated.

When he slid into his spot at one of the long tables, full breakfast tray in hand, Aiden looked him up and down. “You look chipper for a Saturday morning. What, were you the designated driver? I thought you’d never volunteer.”

Harry shook his head, lathering jam onto his croissant. “Didn’t go out. Too tired.”

Aiden hummed. “A perfectly good Friday, utterly wasted. I’m ashamed of you.”

“ _Au contraire_ , you’ve looked better.”

“That’s not exactly a proper usage of ‘ _au contraire_ ’, and I, for one, look just fine,” Aiden retorted. “Who are you to say purple bags under my eyes, a rat’s nest of hair, and beer oozing from my pores doesn’t look great on me? Because I think it does.”

“You have a blueberry skin in your teeth, mate. ‘ _Au contraire_ ’ was a fine addition there; I was making a slight change of topic.”

“You’re wrong, young Styles. I always knew the day would come when you’d lose your mind.”

“Girls have made you cocky.”

Aiden feigned indignance, pressing an open palm over his heart. “Me? Girls? Cocky? What are you on about?”

“You slept with that bird again, didn’t you. The one from last Saturday who used more emojis then words in her texts.”

“I’m appalled, Harold. How could you accuse me of such a thing?”

Harry took a big bite of his croissant. “You did.”

“Fine, fine, you got me. You have a nose like a hound, you know. Did I tell you she works at Payne’s Pub? How wicked is that? We’re there every weekend and we’ve _never_ seen her. She told me her hours; I’m going to drag you along by the hair to meet her.”

“Introducing her to your friends, yeah? That serious?”

“Nah, mate, this is chill, it’s casual. Meeting friends doesn’t mean anything. It’s just so she knows who you are.”

“Yeah, alright.”

“She’s cool, I swear. You’ll like her.”

Harry dropped the subject, and they spent the rest of the meal complaining. Aiden complained about his hangover, and Harry complained about Professor Keeler. Then Aiden complained about not having a job, so Harry complained about getting a tutor for Chemistry. Which reminded him, suddenly, that he was supposed to be somewhere at one, and it was half past ten already. Normally he wouldn’t rush, but he wanted to meet with one of his professors during office hours beforehand. So he grabbed his tray and stood up.

“I’m gonna run,” he said. “Gotta see Hannigan before noon. I’ll catch you for dinner, yeah? Heard there’s something going on at Clare.”

“Yeah, mate, I think Ewan’s got a smasher planned or something. People have been talking about it. I’ll text you.”

“Okay.”

He brought his tray over and left it on the dish rack, then tucked his phone into his pocket and exited the hall.

Miss Allison Hannigan was his favourite professor. She’d spent most of her education and academic career studying gay literature and sexuality in media, and to be frank, she baked some of the best cookies Harry had ever had (though he’d never admit it to his Gran). She always had them at office hours, and she and he had begun a tradition of chat and intellectual discussion over cookies. Harry was her favourite student; it was something that they both knew though never spoke.

They spent their time in a discussion of gay politics, and when Harry checked his watch and saw it was ten to one, he thanked her for the cookies and excused himself. Darting down the hall, he took the stairs as fast as his sense of balance would allow and hopped on the bus down West Road.

By the time he'd crossed the river and gotten off at the Lensfield stop, he realised he had forgotten his notebook.

Cursing under his breath, Harry walked briskly down the street to the library and ducked inside the main entrance. The floors were a beautiful light wood and the ceiling a unique, rich red. Chairs upholstered in green were spread amongst the stacks of textbooks, published papers and theses, and chemistry resources of all kinds. After scanning the first floor for someone who looked like they were awaiting a tutee, he took a seat in one of the chairs visible from the doors and began to wait.

Ten minutes passed, then fifteen, and Harry got up from his seat to make another lap around the library. There were only a few students sitting quietly, pored over thick texts or computers. All were quite obviously involved in revising and not waiting for anyone, so he took his seat again. 13:17, his phone read. Perhaps he should call.

He talked himself out of it and instead scrolled through his messages, shooting off a text to Ewan about the party Aiden had mentioned. A few minutes later, the library’s doors opened and a rush of chilly April air blew in.

“Styles Harry Styles,” a familiar Irish brogue called out. Everyone in the library looked up. “’Tis I, your faithful tutor, Horan Niall Horan.”

Harry got to his feet, bowing his head to the stares as he walked over to a jovial blonde wearing joggers, a long-sleeved Derby jersey, and square black frames.

They shook hands. Harry’s nearly swallowed Niall’s up. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Harry,” Niall said, not making any attempt at lowering his voice to acceptable library level. “I lied before, I’m not exactly a faithful tutor. I’m twenty minutes late, and I’m dumping you after we’ve only just met.”

“Oh.” Harry blinked. “That’s okay, erm―”

“Not to worry.” Niall began to lead him out the doors again, much to the librarian’s content. “I’m taking you to a trusty friend of mine. He’s a great lad and a brilliant chemist, very smart. Quite funny, actually. You’ll like him. We―he lives just down the road. He's my, erm―my roommate, actually. Come on, follow me.”

Harry quickened his pace. He was so tall that he normally had to slow down when walking with other people, but this Niall character was so full of energy it seemed to propel him down the street.

“I don’t mean to pry,” Harry said carefully, “but what happened?”

“Oh, only making some cutting-edge scientific breakthroughs, no big deal.” Niall was beaming. “The team of researchers I’m working with have been looking at quantum chemistry and the discrete Fourier transform. Basically, we’re trying to address the electron correlation problem―ever heard of it?”

“No, never.”

“Oh, okay. Essentially all it is can be boiled down to an issue with mathematically computing the correlation energy for matter: atoms, molecules, solids, you name it. You start with a mean-field description and then go forward. We’ve been tackling the problem with quantum's basic principles and stochastic techniques, which has kept it pretty simple thus far, but none of the algorithms we’ve come up with have worked quite as well as we were hoping. We’re going for an algorithm that can be adapted electronically, so we’re working in Slater determinant spaces, but we keep hitting a wall with the fuckin’ Fermion sign problem, because electronic wavefunctions have positive _and_ negative amplitudes. But today―”

Harry cut him off. “I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m an English student mainly, and I’ve only been studying chemistry for a few months. Forgive me, but I’ve been lost since the moment you said correlation energy.”

“Mate, you’ve got to know correlation energy! It’s simple―in a quantum system, it’s the way electrons interact in an electronic structure.”

“I don’t follow.”

Niall exhaled with a whistle. “Alright, Harry Styles, it’s a good thing you found such a great tutor. Or, well, Tommo will be your tutor. I’m dumping you, because my research team just hit _gold!_ I’m going to be in the lab twenty-four hours a day for the next month, at least.”

Harry looked down at his feet. He’d never felt more inferior in his entire life. Here was this little blonde Irish ball of energy, a good ten or fifteen centimetres shorter than him, bouncing on his toes over a whole bunch of chemistry rubbish, and he didn’t look a day over sixteen. Harry could’ve died right there on the pavement.

Niall led him down the street, to the left, and ultimately to an old building with the front door painted red. Inside, they took the elevator to the third floor and stopped at a door labelled 3C. Niall took out a key and turned the lock. “Oi, it's me, I’ve got your kid here.”

There was a muffled crash and the sound of feet pattering closer, and then the door opened. On the other side stood a boy with a mop of brown hair the exact colour of rich caramel.

Harry gulped.

“I got your voicemail!” The boy―young man, really―said. His voice was raspy in a way that made Harry’s stomach sink into the floor. “I heard you got a novel population dynamics algorithm that hit the exact nodal surface of nitrogen? No way, that’s amazing!”

Niall entered right into the small apartment, but Harry remained outside the door, unsure whether he should go in uninvited. “You won’t believe how excited Professor Alawi was,” Niall said, wiping the lenses of his glasses off on his shirt before replacing them on the bridge of his nose. “We’ve been working with the stochastic cellular automaton, like I told you last week, and the FCI wavefunction, so we had all this spontaneous symmetry breaking because of the annihilation processes, and we finally got it in terms of CI coefficients! I mean, no fixed node approximation or anything. It was nuts. We’ve been going at it for months, and finally this morning we ran about a billion more tests, and everything seems to be in the clear. We’ll have to―”

“Are you just going to stand there?”

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. His eyes met the boy’s―'Tommo', was it?―and words absoutely, completely failed him. He floundered for something, anything, tongue rolling around uselessly in his mouth as Niall and Caramel Hair Boy stared him down expectantly.

“N-no.” He stuttered like a six-year-old after too many sweets. “No, I mean―I mean yes, I’m standing here, but I’ll―I’ll move, if you want me to. I didn’t mean to―”

'Tommo' laughed. “Don’t have a seizure, just come inside. I’m Louis Tomlinson, your new chemistry tutor, since this goof finally did something good.”

Niall punched Louis―God, what a name, Harry would be saying it in the mirror for days―in the shoulder. “You’re just mad my thesis is going to be fucking _brilliant_ , and you haven’t gotten any good data for yours yet,” Niall replied smugly.

“Not true, we’ve been getting solid numbers with this trial!” Louis objected. “Anyway, the tests…?”

“Right, yeah! Anyway, we ran about a billion tests, and everything came out the same, so the algorithm seems to be flawless up to this point. I mean, we thought the same thing last month when Jenkins came up with that pile of shit, but we ran into the Fermion sign problem again with that one, remember? So it’s a little too early to be sure, but it seems like we’ve got something amazing here. So I really have to run down to the lab to meet with the team and keep working, which is why I’ve brought Styles Harry Styles to you.”

Louis looked at him again, and Harry’s knees weakened. “Styles Harry Styles, is it? Why’s that?”

Niall giggled (he actually _giggled_ ). “He rang me up yesterday and tripped over his tongue so bad, it was brilliant. ‘Hi, sorry, I’m Harry, I meant, I’m Styles, I mean, Harry Styles, my name is Harry Styles, I was wondering if you could tutor me? Sorry, thank you, I don’t do science…’ mate, you had a speech impediment over the phone, it was awful. Good thing you seem pretty normal.”

Louis laughed. “Harry Styles, that’s a wacky name. Sounds like hair style.”

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets. He hadn’t realised how hard he’d been biting his tongue until he opened his mouth to speak. “I get that a lot,” he said, focusing on each word. “But, erm, I don't know if Niall said anything―I’m rubbish at chemistry, and Professor Keeler referred me, so…that’s why I’m here.”

“Right, right,” Louis murmured. “Sick, we’ll have good fun, then. You can sock Niall for being such an arsehole, if you want.”

Niall cackled. At this point, it seemed like Niall found everything funny. “Shut up, Louis.”

Louis flashed a grin. “Get out of here, you knob. Go hole up in your lab and don’t come out until you can be a functioning member of society again.”

“Jealous!” Niall shouted as the brown-haired boy pushed him out of the flat. “Have fun, you two!”

The door shut and Harry’s new tutor, this beautiful _creature_ , turned to face him with a smile like the sun. “Well,” Louis said. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Harry couldn’t do anything but nod. He was all of a sudden alone in a flat with the most gorgeous blue-eyed boy he’d ever met in his entire life, and he’d have sold his left arm for a few charming words and the ability to breathe normally again.

“Ought to show you around the place, I reckon,” Louis uttered. “Right, as you can see, this is the parlor. There’s the kitchen―it’s really just a microwave―and the dining room―a table―and through that door is the washroom. Down the hall is our―erm, my bedroom, and the study, which is a desk, a laptop, and about a full tree’s worth of paper. How’s that for a tour? Did I miss anything?”

Harry looked around. “It’s lovely.”

“Bollocks, this place is a mess,” Louis picked up a beer bottle from the floor and padded over to the kitchen counter to put it down. “You’ll be lucky if we can find enough desk space to work. Now, who told you it was a good decision to study chemistry? Because it seems you’ve fallen into the same trap as Niall and me.”

“No one,” Harry admitted. “I’m a literature and philosophy student.”

Louis stopped, looking over his shoulder at Harry. “No way.”

Harry shrugged meekly. “Way?”

This seemed to absolutely tickle Louis, who broke into an enormous grin. “Alright, I get to be your teacher, then! You’re probably lost as a rabbit in the ocean in Keeler’s class, am I right?”

Harry flushed. “I’ve failed every test. I don’t know a thing about chemistry; I’m a right mess.”

Louis smiled wider at that. “Well, Harry, I’m your miracle. Time to learn the basic principles of the best science there is.”

Louis turned and waved him down the hall, and Harry followed like a stray puppy. There were posters all along the walls, and some pictures of Louis with his tanned arms slung around the necks of gorgeous boys. Harry’s head spun.

 _He’s right_ , he thought. _Just maybe, this is my miracle_.

* * * * * *

By the time Louis had cleared a space for them to work at the desk, Harry’s palms were sweating.

“Two cokes, one with lemon for Mr. Harold Styles,” Louis announced, sweeping into the room. He flicked a piece of hair out of his eyes as he set the glasses on the shelf of the window that was just above their workspace.

“Actually, m’names not Harold,” he replied. “It’s just Harry. Strange, I know, but…”

Louis looked down at him. “Fine, then, Just Harry. One coke with lemon for Just Harry Styles.”

He wiped his palms on his jeans as Louis took a seat, heat rushing into his cheeks for what must’ve been the fourth time in the past ten minutes. “I’ve forgotten a notebook. Niall told me to bring one, and I haven’t got anything at all. I’m sorry.”

Louis wrinkled his nose. “Niall’s weird; you don’t need a notebook. This is the age of technology, what are you going to do with a notebook anyway?”

“Write things.”

“We have computers for that.”

“Well, I like to write things in notebooks.”

Louis watched Harry, blue eyes shining with intrigue. “You’re one of those hipster literature students, aren’t you,” he mused. “The ones with fedoras and greasy hair and a coffee in their hands at all times. And a book. Or a notebook, one that you’re always scribbling in. And indie music, of course. That’s you, isn’t it? God, I can just _tell_.”

Harry reached up and stroked a hand absently through his hair. “Mine’s not greasy, and I don’t listen to indie music!”

“You own a fedora, don’t you.”

“So?”

“I knew it!”

Harry laughed nervously and rearranged his legs. The chair Louis had pulled for him was too small; his knees were banging against the bottom of the desk. He felt like a giraffe in a dwarf’s house. “M’ _not_ a hipster literature student,” he insisted. He tried to sound firm, but the smile on his lips ruined it. “I absolutely reject that statement.”

“Well, I absolutely _know_ I’m right.”

Harry conceded. He watched the boy beside him (really, he was more _chef d’œuvre_ artwork than boy, in Harry’s humble opinion) flick through his mobile. A second later, a loud electric guitar intro filtered through the iPhone speakers.

“I can’t revise without music,” Louis explained. “I’ll keep it on the lowest setting. It won’t bother you, yeah?”

“Not at all,” Harry replied. “I do the same thing. I have a studying playlist.”

“Well, I’m not _quite_ that lame.” Louis paused. “Then again, I’m not an indie literature student.”

“ _Hey_.”

“Sorry, Just Harry. I didn’t know you were so sensitive.”

Louis winked, and Harry’s stomach knotted in on itself. “Well.” The older boy exhaled heavily. “Shall we?”

“I suppose we shall.”

Louis turned his laptop on and took a sip of Coke. “You said you’re rubbish at Chemistry, right? So I’ll start with the basics?”

“I mean, I’m not a complete idiot. I know about...about significant figures, and neutrons, protons, and electrons―”

“Do you know who was essential in determining the structure of the atom?”

Harry swallowed. “Erm―it wasn’t Bohr, no...erm―”

“Rutherford.” Louis tapped two fingers decisively against the edge of the table. “It was Rutherford and the gold foil experiments, you have to remember that.”

“I knew that! I swear, I knew that. Really.”

“Of course you did. How about isotopes? Are you comfortable with all that?”

“Yeah, I think so. Isotopes are just atoms with a different number of neutrons, right?”

“They represent variations in neutron counts, yes.”

Harry nodded. “And when they’re unstable, that’s when radioactive decay happens, right?”

“Hey, ten points for Gryffindor! There’s another important thing that sometimes happens with unstable isotopes―”

“They emit alpha and beta particles! I know that one!”

Louis threw an imaginary basketball into an imaginary hoop. “You’re not bad, for a literature student. I’m disappointed you didn’t remember Rutherford, though. I did my first-ever chemistry project on his experiment.”

“I remembered!” Harry pouted. “Just...not until you reminded me.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Whatever, hipster. Four types of atomic orbitals―go.”

“S, P, D, and F.”

“Paramagnetic state?”

“Erm...I’m shit at this. I always confuse it with diamagnetic. Is paramagnetic the one where there’s a lack of unpaired electrons? I can’t―”

“No, that’s dia. Para is with the unpaired electrons. I remember that one because “para” sounds like “paired”, and the presence of unpaired electrons is the paramagnetic state.”

“Oh. Okay.”

They both paused, and a comfortable silence fell between them for the first time. Harry could hear the rush of blood in his head. He was pretty sure he could hear every beat of his heart, too.

How in the world had he ended up in the hole-in-the-wall flat of a chisled, curvy, god-like graduate chemistry student on an overcast Saturday afternoon? He recalled Niall’s sharp voice that first moment in the library, and hurrying to keep up with him as they strode down the street. And now he was here, bumping knees with this beautiful boy dressed in joggers and a Cambridge t-shirt, and he really couldn’t find the right words for how he felt. It was sort of like jumping into an ice-cold pool after soaking in a jacuzzi: his body didn’t know whether to sweat or to shiver.

Harry really couldn’t think about chemistry right now.

“You alright there, mate?”

Was it Harry’s head, or did Louis’ voice sound suddenly softer?

“M’fine,” Harry murmured. “Just tired. Sorry, keep going.”

Louis gave him a quick once-over and then continued. “The electromagnetic spectrum is really important as well, that’s where you get the equation vλ = c, where _v_ is frequency in Hertz, λ is wavelength in metres, and _c_ is the speed of light in metres per second.”

“I’m good at that,” Harry said. “That’s just algebra. I got those questions right.”

Louis smiled. “Ace, we’ll skip reviewing that, then. Do you remember the Bohr model?”

Harry hesitated. “Hold on a minute. Is that―you listen to Rage Against the Machine, Nirvana, Pink Floyd, and...Regina Spektor?”

Louis grabbed his phone and paused the music. “No, no, that’s my sister Lottie’s, she put music on my phone when I―when I went home to visit for Christmas holiday. Sorry, I’ll―”

“You listen to Regina Spektor. You do, don’t deny it.”

“I don’t! I told you, it was my sister, she’s sixteen.”

“Sure, sure. Well, _I_ love Regina Spektor; this is a great song. I guess you’re too _good_ for a badass, anti-folk, sexy Russian-American singer-songwriter. Whatever, you can change it to Nirvana.”

Louis groaned. “I never said―”

“If you’re too good for Regina Spektor, you must be far more indie than I.”

There was a beat before Louis responded. When he did, he looked utterly sheepish. “You win. I love this song.”

Harry lifted his gaze triumphantly. “Knew it.”

“Oh, shut up.” Louis punched him lightly in the arm. "You're smug. It's annoying."

“You lied.”

“Did not.”

“Did _too_.”

“Are we going to argue like children?”

“You were acting like a child, so I reckon we are.”

Louis leaned forward in his chair, ignoring Harry’s eyes on him. “This might come as a surprise to you, but I’m supposed to be your tutor, you know. We’re halfway through the semester; you’ve got a lot to learn if you’re going to pass. I think it’s in your best interest to shut up and listen to me.”

Harry grinned lazily. “You’re deflecting.”

“Am _not_!”

“ _I never love nobody fully, always one foot on the ground. And by protecting my heart truly, I got lost in the sounds_ ―”

"Stop singing.”

That only egged Harry on. “ _I hear in my mind all these voices, I hear in my mind all these words_ ―”

“Harold Styles, stop it right now! This is―”

“ _I hear in my mind all this music, and it breaks my heart_ ―”

“This is ridiculous.”

“ _It breaks my heart, it breaks my heart_.”

Harry finished with a dramatic gesture of his hands, and Louis dropped his head into his hands. “This is hopeless. We’ve gotten nowhere. From now on, I forbid singing. You won, I admitted to liking Regina Spektor. What else do you want?”

Harry’s goofy smile faded, and he regarded the boy beside him with shining eyes. “I want a lot of things,” he said finally. “I want to end homophobia, and I’d like a flat in Paris. Oh, and I really want to stop thinking about chemistry.”

Louis’ conflicted exasperation boiled over. “That’s not what I meant, you knob!”

Harry gasped theatrically. “You can’t call me that, we’ve only just met.”

Louis seemed to sense it before Harry even opened his mouth. “Don’t―”

“ _Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy_ ―”

“For God’s sake, Harry―”

“ _But here’s my number, so call me, maybe?_ ”

“You are an absolute child. I can’t do this.”

Harry's insides were bubbling with the kind of warm you feel soft against your skin on the first sunny day of spring. The warm spread through his bloodstream, into the tips of his fingers and the bottoms of his feet, and he had to bite on his tongue to keep from erupting into an utterly stupid, face-shattering grin.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Tomlinson. I'll be a good student now."

Louis rolled his eyes.

* * * * * *

It was a quarter to three by the time Louis and Harry stood up from the desk and Harry's hip joint cracked loudly enough disturb whoever lived in the next flat over.

In truth, they hadn't gotten much beyond Bohr. Every time a song came on that Harry knew, he'd start to sing, and every time Harry started to sing, Louis would threaten dismemberment, or expulsion from the building, or a hair cut. They got to talking about home and about friends, about outer space and the vastness of the universe. When Louis talked, he breathed very shallowly, Harry noticed. When he got excited about something, his speech would get faster, and when he was frustrated, his jaw would lock. Harry noticed a lot of things. There was a lot about Louis to notice.

Louis grabbed their empty cans, and Harry followed him into the little kitchen. "I like your magnets," he said. There was a whole collection of Family Guy ones, and one that was designed to look like a condom. "Very classy. Very appropriate for such a well-educated Uni of Cambridge researcher."

Louis threw the Cokes into a cardboard box that had about half a dozen empty beer cans and a milk carton in it. "I thought they were very representative of the kind of image I'd like to reflect," he said sarcastically. "I'm glad you like them."

Harry snorted. "You know, I thought you'd be stuffy. I thought Niall would be stuffy, too."

"Stuffy?" Louis pulled a face. "What in the world does that mean?"

"You don't know what stuffy means?"

"No, I know what it _means_ , I just―nevermind. I'm a little offended that you sterotyped me."

"Who says I stereotyped?"

"No one, but it's obvious." Louis moved into the parlor and started clearing magazines and blankets off the couch. "You know, the geeky Chemistry D.Phil who's in the lab every hour of every day, wearing a white coat and glasses with lenses half an inch thick. Trust me, I know the cliché."

Harry shrugged. "You're a little geeky, but you're definitely not―you don't look like the image of a Chemistry student I had in my mind."

"Are you calling me ugly?"

"No, no, no! Just the opposite, actually!" Harry exclaimed. "You're―I mean, you…you're a very attractive man―wait, that sounded creepy. I didn't mean it―no, I'm not calling you ugly at all! You're cute, you're very―handsome…shit. None of that came out like I―"

It was probably from bending over to pick things up, but Harry thought maybe Louis' cheeks looked a little pink. "Stop," he said. "If you keep talking, it'll get so awkward I'll have to leave the building."

Harry felt his face get hot. "Yeah, that was…sorry."

It went quiet, and the two boys looked at each other. Harry wondered if it was possible that the air in the space between them had experienced a change in electrons and become charged, or something.

(See, he really _was_ learning.)

"Erm," Louis wiped his hands on his trousers. "You're probably busy; I shouldn't keep you any longer."

As they stepped together towards the door, Harry's throat itched. He wanted so badly to stay, to remain in this little claustrophobic oasis. He wanted to stay inside because inside was Louis, the electric boy, and it dawned on him suddenly and staggeringly that wherever Louis was, that was where Harry wanted to be.

"I've not much to do, really," Harry admitted, swallowing hard against the golf ball sized lump in his throat. "But I should get going, I don't want to ruin your schedule. I really―I enjoyed this. It was very…helpful."

Louis smiled softly, knowingly. "Do you want to schedule another time to meet? I mean, we only got through…we didn't review much of the course material. If you're struggling, there's still plenty to work on."

"Yeah, actually, that would be great." Harry mentally crossed his fingers. "I can use all the help I can get."

A crease formed across Louis' forehead. "You probably want to schedule with Niall," he murmured. "I almost forgot, it's really him that's supposed to be your tutor. I think he's free on Wednesday, but I'm not certain…I can call him, if you―"

"No," Harry said, perhaps a little too sharply. "Well, he's quite busy now, isn't he? He mentioned something about spending all his time in the lab. And I―if you don't mind, I…I'd rather revise with you. If that's okay."

Louis' eyelashes fluttered. (Harry really, _really_ couldn't take another second. It was getting ridiculous, how knotted his heart felt inside his chest.) "That's definitely okay," the boy replied. "Yeah, that's―that's great. Wicked. I'll just…I think I'm free on Monday and Tuesday around eleven. I have to be at the research centre around two."

"Monday. We could have lunch," Harry blurted.

Louis considered it. "Yeah, yeah, we could. I know a place not far from here that does really good sandwiches. We could meet there, and I can bring my laptop or a textbook or something."

"I have the textbook Professor Keeler uses, so I'll bring that," Harry said. "What's the sandwich place called?"

"The Lunch Box. It's maybe a five minute walk from the Chem library. I can draw you a little map…"

"I'm okay, I'll just put it in my phone."

Louis gripped the doorhandle and pulled it open quietly. "Monday at eleven, then," he said. "Is there anything else?"

"Actually, yeah. Do you have a little sheet of paper and a pen? I just want to write something down quickly."

"Of course." Louis ducked out of sight and came back a minute later with a pad of orange sticky notes and a purple pen. "First thing I could find," he explained.

Harry scribbled out a note, folded it up in four squares, and handed it to his new tutor, who looked at it like it was a ladybug he'd just found on his arm. "That's for you," Harry said. "Thank you. I'll get going."

Louis looked up, eyes wide. "G'bye, Harry."

As he walked out of the flat and towards the lift, Harry waved over his shoulder. "G'bye, Louis."

Standing in the elevator, Harry's head spun. He might not have known much more about chemistry, but there was one thing Harry did know now: the air from before he met Louis and the air from after were two entirely different things.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so i'm not particularly proud of this chapter and a good chunk of it is smut and texting, nothing too fancy, but you get to hear from louis' pov for the first time so that's good ig???? idk lmao this is bad anyway here u go

It was half past six, and Louis was walking back from Yim Wah Express with greasy, over-salted Chinese food in his hands.

Opening the door to his flat was a bit of a struggle with the large takeaway bag, but once he pushed through, he kicked his tennis shoes off and dumped everything on the little table. Niall had texted an hour ago saying he’d be home around a quarter to seven. That was now, really.

Louis didn’t mind; he was used to Niall being late. When they’d first moved in together at the beginning of their final year of university, Niall would regularly come back an hour after he said he would. So Louis just began to expect it―if Niall said five o’clock, he’d have food ready at six.

He busied himself setting the table (that sounded much fancier than it really was; all he did was throw down two paper plates and some utensils) and then flicked the telly on. As he sat down, he heard the crinkling of paper in his pocket and remembered the note Harry gave him just before he left. Louis had tucked it away, meaning to read it when he got the chance, but he’d entirely forgotten about it until just now. So he pulled it out and unfolded the careful creases Harry had made.

_Call me, maybe?_

_1223 543210_

Louis’ insides churned. He could still hear Harry singing the bubble-gum pop song an octave lower than it was supposed to be sung. He stared at the slanted, narrow penmanship, then at the little smiley face in the corner. One eye was bigger than the other.

Louis smiled, too.

He drew his phone out and entered the number in. He contemplated texting Harry but quickly thought better of it. He’d wait until Niall got home, maybe. Or until he could think of something to say that was worth a whole message.

At half past seven, Louis decided he wasn’t going to wait for Niall any longer. He served himself a plate of sweet and sour pork, fried rice, and Chinese green beans and curled up in the corner of the loveseat. It was dark by then, and the streetlights were just coming on. He wondered which college Harry was in, and if he liked to go out on Saturday nights.

Niall stumbled in the door just after eight o’clock, a rucksack slung over his back with one pocket hanging wide open. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he blurted out before Louis even stood up. “I got so wrapped up in running trials, I completely lost track of time. I’m the worst boyfriend in the world, I know. Is the food still warm?”

“Probably not,” Louis replied, getting up and helping Niall with his jacket. “You can throw it in the microwave for a few seconds. We’ve got a few beers left as well. I’ll run to the store and get more tomorrow.”

Niall straightened, cupped a cold hand around Louis’ jaw, and pecked him on the lips. “God, I love you,” he uttered. “Did you eat already?”

Louis nodded sheepishly. “I was hungry.”

Niall laughed. “Babe, if you were the one coming home late and I had gotten the takeaway, it’d all be gone by now. Come, let’s sit. Think Leinster’s playing tonight.”

“I think I’ll have a lie down, actually,” Louis said. “I’m feeling a bit weary, which is strange.”

Niall glanced up from flipping through channels. “S’right, you tutored that curly-haired bloke today. How was that?”

“Fine, it went well,” Louis sighed. “He’s really behind on his coursework. If I were him I’d drop, but he seems determined to pass. I’m seeing him again on Monday.”

“Are you really?” Niall raised his eyebrows and took a big bite of chicken. Then, with his mouth full, “I thought it would be sort of a one-time thing. Wasn’t I supposed to tutor him, anyway?”

“Yeah, but babe, you’re too busy now, remember? You had a fit this morning about getting all your work done in the lab with this new algorithm. Harry assumed you couldn’t do it, so I offered.”

“Well, the lad’s probably right,” Niall snorted. “Glad it worked out. Does he have a speech impediment?”

Louis’ throat tightened. “No. He just speaks quite slowly.”

Niall smirked. “Right, okay. Sure you don’t want to watch the match?”

Louis shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m tired. Love you.”

Niall didn’t respond, so Louis turned on his heel and retreated into their bedroom. He didn’t bother picking up the stray clothes that dotted the floor; instead, he sprawled out on the large mattress and hugged his favourite pillow.

_Call me, maybe?_

Louis remembered the way Harry’s knee kept bumping against the outside of his thigh as he quizzed the boy on chemistry foundations. He did want to call. Harry was a lovely kid, a great laugh, and there was something about him that tickled the inside of Louis’ stomach. He smiled into his arms. He was looking forward to Monday.

After a few minutes of tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable and block out the noise of the game from the other room, Louis gave up. Groaning to himself, he stared at Harry’s new contact in his phone before finally resigning and clicking on “new message”.

 _Hey,_ he typed. _It’s Louis._

Simple enough.

The minute it sent, his chest tensed up. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. When―no, _if_ ―Harry responded, what was Louis supposed to say? ‘I got your note, here’s a text’? ‘It was great tutoring you, I hope you get a better mark on your next Chemistry exam’?

Louis was an idiot.

Next to him on the pillow, his mobile buzzed.

**Hiii, It’s Louis ;) You read my note !!**

Okay, he was an idiot, but his idiotic move didn’t seem so bad now. He grinned stupidly at his phone screen. Harry was like getting a package you weren’t expecting. Harry was a good thing that came out of nowhere and turned all your bad thoughts into giggles and all your storm clouds into suns.

Louis rolled over onto his stomach and typed out a reply.

_It was really cheesy. I cringed._

Harry’s answer came a minute later. **Heeyyy, I thought it was quite clever. :(**

_Aw u poor thing_

Niall shouted at the telly. Louis wiggled out of his trousers and kicked them to the floor.

 **I’m revising right now** , Harry responded. **Am I your favourite student? :)**

_Ur quite cheeky aren’t u mate_

**You didn’t answer my question !**

_Ur my only student_

**So I’m your favourite then :) :)**

Louis muffled his own grin into the pillowcase, letting his phone fall from his hand. Growing up, he’d never been as socially deft as many of his classmates. In school, he was better at arithmetic than some of the students twice his age, and that set him apart from the beginning. During noontime breaks, he’d sit in the library and read ahead in his science textbooks while the others played outside. And once school let out for the day, it was no different. He went home straight away, picked up his baby sisters from old Miss Lily’s house next door, made a snack for his older sisters Lottie and Félicité, and watched after the four of them until his mum got off her evening shift at the hospital. He did his homework while the macaroni was simmering on the stove, most nights. Or after the twins drank their bottles.

But this―Louis was talking to Harry (texting, really, but what difference did it make?) as if he’d known him for ages. It was easy conversation, a back and forth rhythm that fell right into place, and Louis relished in it. Meeting new people and making friends had never been a simple, painless task. Except Harry―Harry was absolutely different. Harry was something else.

 _What are u doing with ur Saturday night_ , he replied finally.

There were a few minutes of silence, and then Louis’ phone buzzed with Harry’s answer. **I’m not sure yet. Might go out**

_Bloody late already, make up ur mind lad_

Another pause. Then, **There’s a party at sidney sussex**

_So go, u knob_

**Thought maybe you’d like to come too .**

Louis stared at the words for a minute, thumb hovering over the screen. There was an eruption of cheering from the match Niall was watching, and Louis heard him groan and stomp a foot against the floor.

Just as he was about to reply, another text came in. **I didn’t mean as a date or anything.. Just thought you might come along with me. Supposed to be good fun**

Louis swallowed hard. _Can’t_ , he typed. _Got 2 get up early tmrw. Niall’s here watchin the Leinster game_

It was a good fifteen minutes before Harry answered him again. **He’s your roommate, yeah ?**

_Yeah._

**I think I’ll go out, then. My roomie’s pestering me. I’ll see you Monday at eleven?**

_U got it :) no one says pestering_

**I say pestering! Fine word**

_Ur lame_

**Am not**

_Are too_

**You’re mean :( I’m going to have fun without you**

Before Louis could formulate a response, the bedroom door creaked open and Niall lumbered in, pulling his shirt over his head. “Hey,” Louis said, watching his boyfriend shimmy out of his trousers. “Game over?”

Niall grunted and removed his glasses, placing them down on the bureau. He climbed onto the mattress and draped himself across Louis’ body, blonde hair tickling Louis’ neck. “Miss you all day.”

“Yeah?” Louis began to rub the boy’s back.

“Yeah,” Niall murmured. “Think this algorithm is our first breakthrough. We really got it, Tommo. S’gonna be mad.”

Louis smiled. He could feel Niall’s little exhales against his skin. “I’m so happy for you, baby.”

Niall used his elbows to squirm closer to Louis, and then he kissed him, slow and deep. Louis’ heart faltered. He pulled away to take a breath, but then Niall’s lips were back, sealed against his, and Louis fell into it. His mind went blank; he could feel Niall half-hard against his hip.

“You’re so fit,” Niall breathed, one hand squeezing the swell of Louis’ bum.

Louis held in a moan, feeling his boyfriend begin to rut against his thigh. His dick twitched. He and Niall hadn’t had sex in over a week, and Louis hadn’t realised it until now, but God, he was horny.

“Suck me,” Niall whispered into his mouth. “Wanted you all day.”

The boy’s hand brushed against Louis’ own hardening cock, and this time, he couldn’t hold it in. Moaning softly, he trailed kisses down Niall’s neck and sucked one of his nipples into his mouth. Niall groaned and threaded his fingers into Louis’ hair. “Fuck,” he urged. “Come on, Louis.”

Louis kissed down his stomach, tongue flicking out, and then dipped his fingers into the waistband of Niall’s pants. The boy was fully hard now, cock straining against the cloth, and Louis pressed a kiss to the tip before Niall pushed the boxers down. He took his dick into his own hand, giving it a few tugs.

“Want your mouth on me,” he murmured, voice gravelly, dark. “So hot, come on.”

Niall rubbed the head of his dick against Louis’ closed lips until Louis began to lap sweetly up and down the shaft, little kitten licks that made Niall shudder. He flicked his tongue into the slit, tasting the first droplet of precome, and then he slowly opened his mouth, flattening his tongue and relaxing his throat.

“Yeah,” Niall choked out, locking his fingers in Louis’ hair. “Yeah, that’s it, fuck.”

His boyfriend’s words urging him on, he slowly took Niall deeper into his throat, feeling the beginnings of a slight ache in his jaw. Niall’s hips twitched. “Wanna fuck your mouth.”

Louis squeezed his eyes shut, hollowing his cheeks and digging his thumbs into Niall’s thighs. He bobbed his head a few times, swirling his tongue around the boy’s length. He could feel the pins and needles behind his eyelids when Niall thrust a little deeper.

A minute later, Niall pushed Louis off and turned them so he was hovering over Louis’ mouth. He guided his dick past Louis’ lips, one hand gripping the headboard. “Be good for me, baby,” he grunted. “Gonna fuck you now.”

Louis whimpered, eyes welling with water. From within the confines of his pants, his dick throbbed painfully. He reached down and took himself in his hands, squeezing to relieve a little bit of the tension. Niall’s body trembled. “Ready, baby?”

Louis nodded, swallowing once before Niall pushed his cock into Louis’ mouth. He started slow, little pulses of his hips while Louis adjusted to the girth. Then he pushed further, beginning to thrust down Louis’ throat.

“Fuck,” Niall breathed. He reached down and grazed a thumb over Louis’ cheek. “Fuck, you’re so good. That’s it, yeah, come on.”

A tear slid out of the corner of Louis’ eye and trailed down onto the pillow as Niall began to fuck his mouth. He was so turned on, stomach knotting with heat as he jerked himself off in rhythm with Niall’s thrusts. His jaw ached and he couldn’t take in a good breath, but his lips were wet with Niall’s precome and he was so, so fucked.

“Shit,” Niall cursed, hips stuttering. He thrusted a few more times into Louis’ mouth before pulling out and fucking into his own hand. “Gonna come now, baby. Ready?”

Louis whined, mouth open in anticipation. The head of Niall’s dick bumped against his lips and then, with a few more tugs, the boy came all over his face, streaking his cheeks with come.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Niall breathed. “Jesus Christ.”

Louis’ abdomen clenched, and he began to jerk himself off faster, twisting his wrist and swiping his thumb over the head. Niall slowly came down from his high, dragging his dick through the stripes he’d made on Louis’ skin. “That’s it, baby,” he said. “You can come now. Go on, I’ve got you.”

Louis’ back arched off the bed and then he was coming, blurting across his own stomach and fist, eyes shut tight. Niall tucked his own cock back into his pants, running a hand over Louis’ chest. “Good boy,” he murmured. “Pretty little prick. Bet those lips will be bruised in the morning, yeah? Everyone will know it was me.”

Louis whimpered, hands trembling as his whole body stiffened and then relaxed, limbs turning into Jell-O. His head felt as if it was detached from his neck, and he let go of his softening member, the sensitivity quickly becoming too much. He felt Niall rubbing circles around his nipple, and he leaned into the touch, eyes still closed. “Ni,” he whispered. “Get a towel?”

His boyfriend pressed a kiss to his neck, then stood up. Louis watched him duck into the washroom and come back with a hand towel that was slightly damp. He wiped the spunk from Louis’ cheeks and chest and climbed beneath the sheets. “C’mere,” he said. “Let me hold you.”

Louis shimmied under the blanket and Niall pulled him against his body, fitting his knees into the backs of Louis’. He felt Niall press a kiss to the back of his head, and his veins filled with a spreading warmth as they lay tangled together.

“Could stay here forever.” Niall’s voice was gravelly.

Louis smiled, snuggling further into his boyfriend’s embrace. “I wish we could.”

It was quiet for a long time. “Ni?” Louis whispered finally. “You asleep?”

“Mm,” Niall grunted. “Almost.”

“I love you.”

“Love you, too, Louis. Try to fall asleep.”

So Louis tried. He tried as he felt Niall’s breathing even out, and he tried when the boy shifted and let go of his waist. He kept trying, and then his phone began to vibrate on the nightside table.

Startled, he picked it up and silenced it. On the screen was a second text from Harry.

**I’m having fun without you**

Louis’ heartbeat stalled. Turning the brightness down and checking over his shoulder that Niall was still out, he typed out a response. _It’s after midnight, Harry. Go to bed_

**Your e notasleep. Y should I?**

_I’m almost asleep. U disturbed me_

**Couldve ignore d it ;;)**

Louis bit his lip. _Are u drunk?_

Harry’s answer was quick. **Nooooooo !**

_U r definitely smashed. Go home_

**NoT smashed silly!!! You shud be here : ):) :)**

_Ur really insane_

**Ur really cute**

Louis’ cheeks went hot. He was in his dark bedroom, boyfriend sound asleep beside him, blushing like mad. He felt ridiculous.

 _I’m flattered_ , he typed.

**I like that word**

_Ffs Harry I’m going to stop replying_

**Noooo stay :(((**

_Ur ridiculous stop drinking. Bye_

**Noo Louis come back**

Louis read the text over a few times and contemplated replying before reminding himself he had to get up early the next morning. So he plugged in his mobile and curled up against Niall’s side, fingers brushing across the hills and valleys of the boy’s rib cage.

The air in the room was cool, and Louis decided he might have a wee stigma against people who wear ratty band shirts and too-tight trousers, but he could make an exception for this baby-faced boy with Cupid curls.

Harry was a stupid name. Louis loved it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woW soRry ok IM SORRY oh well better next time this was a mess
> 
> comment n all that would be great ;3 xoxoxo


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god sorry i've been working all day every day but here's another chapter i hope u like it
> 
> writing harry for this au is so so so good i love it he's a such a ween

Harry spent all of Sunday waiting for Monday.

Just like every week, he occupied himself between the hours of one and four volunteering in a community garden with schoolchildren to promote sustainability and natural farming. Knees in the dirt, he branded a trowel in one gloved hand and a bag of seeds in the other. He helped a small boy with chocolate-coloured skin pluck weeds out of the soil, and he thought about Louis.

It was ridiculous, if he really reflected on himself. He’d spent all of sixty minutes with this graduate chemistry student, talking very little about chemistry and very much about nothing in particular. He didn’t know the young man’s favourite ice cream flavour, or what it was he enjoyed so much about science, or if he slept on his stomach, back, or side. He didn’t know enough for the racing thoughts to be at all justified.

Yet there he was on Sunday, brushing at the brown stains on his trousers as he waved goodbye to the children and their teacher, with a pair of sharp blue eyes stuck in his head.

He took his bike back to the hall that evening and decided he’d walk over to the pub five minutes away. From what he’d heard around campus, Payne’s Pub had started up two years ago in the bottom floor of a building that had previously been a decaying comic book store. Within the time leading up to present, the pub had put two others out of business. Harry wasn’t surprised. The place was buzzing with students and young locals from noon until midnight six days a week, and the Cambridge Alternative Music Station played through every minute.

The owner, Liam, was someone Harry liked to think of as a friend. He had a buzzcut and arm muscles wider than Harry’s calves, always bulging out of the sleeves of his t-shirts. He liked to work behind the counter, even though he always had another bartender on shift. He was rowdy but level-headed, Harry thought, and perfectly amicable, so that all the university students felt comfortable around him.

As Harry walked into the pub, he caught sight of the man himself serving two plates of fish and chips to a table in the corner. “Oi, Mr. Payne!” He called out, giving a short wave. “That for me?”

Liam looked up and cracked a mischievous grin. “You wish, Styles. Take a seat, you tosser.”

Harry slid onto one of the stools and smiled at the girl behind the counter. “Eleanor, right?”

She nodded. “That’s correct. Harry, yeah? You were in last week; I remember you.”

“It’s the curls. It’s gotta be the curls.”

“Not so sure about that,” she winced. “I think maybe it was the way you tripped over your own feet walking out of here. Oh, and when you tried to flirt with Liam.”

“Damnit!” Harry laughed. “I was hoping you’d forgotten!”

“No, no, unfortunately, I have a wonderful memory. Gift from my granddad.”

“Ah, well, I can’t complain, then, can I? Did I really flirt with Liam?”

Eleanor snorted, drying a pint glass with a blue towel. “You were drunk. You tried to flirt with everyone. I think you even tried to flirt with me.”

“Well, I definitely was pissed, then, ‘cos I’m gay. Really, really gay,” Harry grinned. “Sorry about that. I tend to get friendly when I’m a bit tipsy, you know.”

She rolled her eyes. “Forgiven.”

Just then, Liam skirted back round the counter and planted his hands decisively in front of Harry. “Hello there, mate,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“You ought to know by now. I’m quite boring with my order.”

“S’right, you are. El, he wants a cheese toastie with ham and pickles. And a vodka and Coke.”

“Li, do I have to serve him the vodka soda? All it took was two last time.”

Liam called back to her over his shoulder as he went to clear a table. “Nah, forget it, then. Don’t give it to him.”

“Hey!” Harry protested. “What happened to ‘the customer is always right’?”

Eleanor smirked, turning her back as she wrote out an order slip for his cheese toastie. “The customer is always right with _exceptions_ ,” she said. “For instance, you.”

He pouted and watched her proceed to mix his drink. “Here. One vodka and Coke for the whiny bloke with the barmy haircut. That’s all you’re getting, the one there. I don’t want any more nonsense compliments about how my rings match my personality.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Did I really say that?”

The look she gave him was the only answer he needed.

Ten minutes later, he’d received his toastie and was chatting to Liam about the most recent Liverpool match. The pub was bustling around them, people with pints in their hands and others seated having a bite, but then Harry heard a voice over the din that lit a bulb in his head.

It was Niall, of all people. It had to be Niall.

“Bottoms up, mate! M’here for a pint of your best!”

Harry turned and yes, it was definitely Niall; there was the blonde hair and the crooked grin and the comical bounce in his step. Niall caught sight of him and his eyes lit up. “I know you! The English student in Keeler’s class! What’s the craic?”

The Irishman took a seat beside him and Eleanor slid a dark beer across the counter. Niall snagged it easily, lifting it to his lips. “Well, erm, your flatmate was a fine tutor,” Harry replied. “Very, erm—knowledgeable...about chemistry.”

Niall snorted. “Yeah, yeah, Louis’ a good one. Oi, Eleanor, fetch me a pulled pork with coleslaw.”

“Anything else?”

“A snog would be nice. You’re looking particularly beautiful this evening.”

Eleanor curled her lip, shaking her head at him disapprovingly. “Do you kiss your boyfriend with that mouth?”

“I most definitely do,” Niall smirked. “All over. He particularly likes it when I—”

Harry guffawed. “Stop, stop, stop right there!” Eleanor exclaimed. “You’re a twat, you know that?”

Niall beamed impishly. “That rhymed.”

“You’re a poet and you don’t even know it.”

Both of them turned and looked at Harry like he was a tourist asking for directions to Big Ben when it was right over his head. “That was terrible,” Niall said simply.

Harry’s cheeks went hot, and Eleanor giggled. “Niall, shut up, you’re an arse. Drink your pint and leave.”

“I’m waiting on my sandwich, woman, don’t be pushy! What’s taking so long?”

She discreetly flipped him off, and Harry muffled his chuckle into his elbow. Niall shook his head and turned. “So, you’re officially Louis’ tutee, then? Told me about it last night.”

“S’pose I am.”

“Well, I’ll be seeing more of you, then, I reckon. D’you watch much rugby, Harry?”

Harry shrugged. “M’not a massive fan or anything, but I’ll sit through a match if it’s on. Why?”

“Thought I’d ask. I’m a Derby fan.”

Harry nodded, chewing the last bite of his cheese toastie. Then, from behind, “Shouldn’t you be reading for class on Tuesday, there, lad?”

He turned around to find his favourite professor (okay, his favourite _male_ professor; he really did love Miss Hannigan) standing behind him, clad in a leather jacket, black jeans, and a Pink Floyd t-shirt. Harry stood up to give him a handshake and a clap on the back. “Hi, Professor Malik. Fancy seeing you here.”

“Fancy seeing _you_ here.” He waved to Eleanor, who smiled back warmly. “And you know better than to call me Professor Malik when we’re not in a lecture. It’s Zayn, mate; sit yourself down.”

Harry did, and his professor took the seat beside him. “This is Niall Horan, my—erm, he’s a chemistry graduate student. He was supposed to—his flatmate is my chemistry tutor.”

Zayn laughed. “S’right, forgot you’re taking chemistry. Still can’t believe you did that. Should’ve taken my Old Norse seminar; would’ve been ace.”

“Sorry?” Harry offered.

Niall leaned across the counter to stick a hand out to Zayn. “Jolly good to meet ya, Mr. Malik, I’m Niall Horan.”

“Zayn, really,” Zayn replied. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

As Harry finished off the last of his vodka soda, Niall and Zayn talked around him. “You’re quite young to be a professor,” the blonde said bluntly. “I mean, I’m impressed. You don’t exactly look like—like the crusty old men on the chemistry faculty.”

Zayn sniggered. “Bet I’m older than you. I finished my D.Phil last year, and they offered me a spot teaching two first-year courses. It’s all grading papers, honestly, s’quite dull. First years are needy little buggers. Just like this one here.”

Harry pouted as Zayn jabbed a thumb at him. “M’not _needy_.”

“Oh, you definitely were the first few months. ‘Professor Malik, what font should I use for my paper? What size? What spacing? Sir, do you prefer the title underlined or not? Would you recommend I read all of The Canterbury Tales, or should I pick the ones that appeal to me?’”

“That’s not needy, that’s careful!” Harry protested as the two boys laughed.

Eleanor swept in and handed Niall his pulled pork roll. “That’s for you.” She then turned to Zayn. “Hi, Z! How was poetry night? I couldn’t make it, I’m sorry!”

“Yeah, no hard feelings or anything,” he said sarcastically. “But yeah, it was wicked, actually. Drummond from Trinity showed up and did this freaky absurdist piece, and the whole audience wasn’t sure whether to laugh or reflect on their lives, so he got right good applause.”

Eleanor smiled. “Drummond, really? Odd, that. Sounds lovely; I have to make it next time. Should I put in an order of your regular?”

Zayn nodded. “Yeah, yeah, and a gin and tonic. Thanks, babe.”

Harry stood up, stretching. His belly was full, and the drink had left him pleasantly warm on the insides. “Think I’ll hit the road,” he uttered, placing his money down on top of the bill with a tip for El. “Was fine, boys, thank you. I’ll see you in class, and—”

“And you’ll see me around,” Niall finished, mouth full of sandwich. He got up and took Harry’s seat beside Zayn. “Bye, Hair Style!”

Ignoring it, Harry turned and shuffled his way out of the pub, waving goodbye to Liam as he left. As he passed by outside, he glanced in through the window at Niall and Zayn, already immersed in conversation. The air was cold; he’d forgotten it was April. Cambridge still had a signficant amount of thawing to do.

And if he thought about hopping a bus over to Louis’ and knocking on the door, no one needed to know.

* * * * * *

On Monday morning at half ten, Harry was fussing with his hair.

The irritating thing was, it always looked kempt and bouncy on days when he had nothing to do, but when he was doing something or seeing someone important, like today, it magically turned into a rat’s nest.

He gave up after a minute and shook it out, resolving he’d let it air-dry and hope for the best. Curtis had disappeared forty-five minutes before, presumably to grab breakfast, but he’d heard from others in the college that Curtis and his mates were in the habit of smoking a joint before classes. Harry didn’t much care, really, he was just glad to have the room to himself.

He busied himself putting on deodorant and cologne as he tried to decide whether to wear jeans or real trousers. He wasn’t sure what this lunch was supposed to be; he’d texted on and off with Louis all weekend, and they were getting along right well, but trousers meant _I’m trying to look nice because I’m hoping this is a date_. Which was exactly what Harry was thinking, but…

He went with the jeans.

It wasn’t a date, it really wasn’t. He knew that, honest. It’s just...maybe he was getting a _little_ carried away. Maybe he’d overthought absolutely everything in the past seventy-two-ish hours they’d known each other, but that wasn’t a big deal, right? It was just that Louis was _cute_. Harry couldn’t help but appreciate cuteness.

Louis was also sinfully fit, and infuriatingly smart, and ridiculously animated. And God, he wore glasses like it was his _job_. But that wasn’t a big deal, either. Harry could think those things, and it didn’t have to be a big deal.

He left his room flustered.

He rode the bus to the stop nearest the sandwich shop and slipped inside four minutes after eleven. It was terribly sweet, with honey-coloured wood floors and exposed brick behind the register. There were little tables scattered everywhere they’d fit, and a tiny little stage, and a few armchairs upholstered in creamy leather arranged around a fireplace. It was embarrassing, how quickly Harry picked Louis out of the crowd.

He was settled at a table in the far corner, bent over a notebook with his chin in his hand. Harry walked over and it was so goddamn _cute_ , the way Louis was so wrapped up in his work that he didn’t even notice.

Harry cleared his throat. “Ahem.”

Then there were those blue eyes, wide and mildly startled, and Louis was flicking his fringe off his forehead and Harry hadn’t realised that maybe he wasn’t ready for this at all.

“Hiya, Harry!” Louis smiled, shuffling his papers around to clear a space. “Sit, I’m sorry!”

Harry sat. Louis smiled again (oh God, Harry definitely wasn’t ready). “Found the shop okay? I know it’s a little out of the way for you.”

“Yeah, it was easy, not a problem.”

“Brilliant. Well, I’d say we ought to get to it, but you look like you could use a cup of coffee.”

“I could, actually,” Harry admitted. “Do I…”

“Go right up to the counter and place an order, yeah. They’ll drop it at the table for you when it’s ready.”

“Great, thanks.” Harry stood up, pushing his chair in, and his tutor gave him a bright smile and a wink.

A _wink_. For fuck’s sake, he nearly melted right there.

Queueing up behind a middle-aged woman, Harry came to a sort of conclusion. The way he saw it, he had two options: he could wait it out, become good friends with Louis, finish with chemistry, and once the boy was no longer his tutor, ask him out on a proper date; or, he could be forward, flirt aggressively, and use every technique that had unravelled boys in his hands before to wiggle into Louis’ heart right then, right there.

He was torn, he really was. The first scenario, he reckoned the outcome was probably good; the last, on the other hand, was far less predictable. Harry was impatient, though. That was the problem.

He glanced over. Louis was tapping the end of his pen against his lips.

God, the last thing Harry needed was an image of that gorgeous boy mouthing at a long object. In these jeans, he really couldn’t afford it.

“Can I help you?”

Startled, Harry snapped his head forward to find that the queue in front of him was gone, and the girl at the cash register was looking at him warily. He hadn’t even looked at the menu. Picking the first thing he saw, he placed his order, tripping over his words and fumbling for his wallet. The girl, whose hair was dyed a fading pink, gave him a half-arsed smile. “It’ll be ten minutes. Have a good day.”

Harry thanked her, bowing his head as he returned to his table. Louis grinned wickedly at him. “Saw you daydreaming over there.”

“I’m rather embarrassed,” Harry mumbled, curling his legs under the table. “I wasn’t standing there for too long, was I?”

“Maybe ten seconds at most. You’ve nothing to worry about, it was cute. You’re a dork.”

Harry looked up. Louis’ eyes twinkled. Cute. Louis thought he was _cute_.

The thing about Louis was that he didn’t fit into any of Harry’s moulds. In the past, he’d always been able to size up a boy and come up with the best path to his heart. Quick and easy, patient and tender, Harry could always tell the way with the most likely positive outcome. But Louis, no way. This time, Harry had no idea what to do.

And the fact that his heart was cheering because Louis fondly called him a dork really wasn’t helping him get a grip. He was so, _so_ whipped.

Life wasn’t fair.

“I see you’ve forgotten a notebook again,” Louis observed, cheekily gesturing to the empty space on the table with his pen.

Harry groaned. “Fuck. I’ve made a terrible impression thus far, haven’t I? Can’t remember notebooks, definitely can’t remember chemistry.”

Louis giggled. “S’fine, I’ve got one myself if we need it. I’m working on this paper at the moment, and it’s a mess, really. I’ve been stuck for days.”

“Stuck how?”

“Honestly, it’s ‘cos I’m shit at writing,” Louis confessed. “Been awful at it since primary. I’ve got to present an enormous amount of data in a concise, readable way, and I just _can’t_ get it right. Papers are the worst thing about sciences in academia. In my humble opinion, that is.”

“I’m good at writing,” Harry mused. “I used to write for the newspaper at home in Holmes Chapel, and I write for the Spy now.”

Louis’ jaw dropped. “You write for the _Cambridge Spy_? No _way_.”

“Way,” Harry smiled. “The column about social issues? That’s me.”

Louis shook his head. “I fucking love the Spy; satire is my absolute _favourite_. I can’t believe I didn’t think to put it together that H. Styles the writer and Harry Styles my chemistry student are the same person. Cheers, mate; you’re talented.”

Harry glowed like a twelve-year-old girl after her first kiss, he really did. Until a waitress came up to the table, gently setting down a steaming mug.

“One café au lait and a chicken salad sandwich with mustard,” she recited. “Enjoy.”

She’d turned on her heel before Harry could get out a thank you. The coffee smelled delicious.

“What about you?” He asked, suddenly realising Louis hadn’t ordered. “Do you drink coffee?”

“Oh, I’m fine, I’ve been here since nine in the morning. I had a latte and a croissant when I came in, and about an hour ago, I ordered tea so they wouldn’t kick me out.”

“You’ve been here that long? What in the world for?”

“For the paper, like I said.” Louis reached over and took a nibble of Harry’s chicken salad that had fallen out. “Niall said he needed the flat so he could focus on the algorithm before he brought it to his boss, so I cleared out. I work better in public places anyway, as it happens. I fancy a bit of noise and bustle. Niall’s not like that; he needs absolute silence.”

Harry took a sip of his café au lait and tried not to squirm at how sweet Louis looked stealing bites of his food. “He kicked you out? Rude.”

Louis laughed. “No, he didn’t kick me out, I didn’t mind. It worked for both of us. Plus, I needed to be here with you anyway. And I’ve written nearly a whole page in these two hours, which is more than I’ve done all week.”

Harry frowned. “I could help you, if you like. You’d have to explain it all to me, but writing is what I’m good at.”

“No, no, that’s lovely of you, but I’ll decline.” Louis tucked a few papers into a manila folder. “I wouldn’t want to bother you with all this rubbish. You’ve enough on your plate, I’m sure.”

“I like to be busy.” A lie, but Louis didn’t need to know. “And it certainly wouldn’t be a bother.”

“No, Harry, you’re truly kind, but I’ll work it out on my own, I think. Maybe once I’m through I’ll have you proofread. I’m horrific at spelling.”

Harry chuckled, taking a bite of the warm scone. “Do you do the same sort of stuff as Niall? With the mathematics and modelling and that?”

“No, no, the work I’ve been doing is mostly small molecule intervention in biological processes,” Louis said. “Basically I work with the thermodynamics of drug discovery and medicinal chemistry with a fragment-based approach. That’s the simple outline of it, but it’s a really exciting field, understanding biological systems on a molecular level.”

Harry pretended to know exactly what he was talking about. “That sounds…interesting.”

Louis paused. "I’m onto you, Styles. You’ve been distracting me this entire time, haven’t you? We’re supposed to be helping you pass chemistry here, not conducting an interview about my life’s work. C’mon, we’ve got to cover some more atomic structure and then bonding.”

He groaned. “I don’t _want_ to.”

“Too bad, Harold. Molecular geometry, that’s where we’ll start. Impress me.”

And so what if Harry learned more about the shape of Louis’ mouth and the way he flicked his hair out of his eyes than he did about the mathematical and functional structure of molecules. The way he saw it, they were equally as important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok well i could've tried harder but hey
> 
> leave comments if u feel like it -insert sunglasses emoji- (aka feed my ego)
> 
> ily guys it's so cool to have readers n that xoxo


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> well for once i'm pretty happy with this so yep
> 
> i hope i'm educating you all on some random chemistry facts u can go impress someone or smth idk lmao

After that day at The Lunch Box, Louis saw Harry regularly for over a week.

They’d meet in Louis and Niall’s flat, or outside along the river if the weather was nice, or sometimes in a café for lunch if they weren’t horrifically broke. Harry took Louis to Payne’s Pub, introduced him to his friend Aiden, and it was great, it really was. It’d been a long time since Louis had made a new friend, and Harry was really something special.

Louis was sat on the loveseat with his laptop, typing out the last few bits of his paper. It was due in his advisor’s inbox tomorrow morning before nine. Maybe he could’ve worked a little harder, but Louis reckoned procrastination ran in his blood.

It was nearly two o’clock in the afternoon and he was supposed to meet Harry in the park in fifteen minutes. He should’ve put on his tennies and left already; it took at least ten to get there on a good day. The thing was, Niall was due to have returned from the office for lunch two and a half hours ago, and all Louis wanted was to see him before he headed out.

Closing his laptop, he bitterly accepted the fact that the blonde most likely wouldn’t A) return home in the next five minutes or B) answer any of the three texts he’d sent. Louis should’ve been used to it, but sometimes, it still got under his skin. They’d been together over a year now; he hoped it wasn’t selfish, but he liked to think he deserved to know where Niall was and if he was okay during one of those times when he didn’t show up like he said he would.

Sighing, Louis laced up his shoes and shrugged into a Cambridge jumper. It was nearly May, but as per usual, England hadn’t yet resolved to give in to warmer weather. Typical, really.

He left the flat with his hands in his pockets, a note on the counter for his boyfriend.

**N -**

**Answer me once in a while, yeah??  
 **Makes me nervous. Hope everything’s ace at the lab.  
 **I’ll make pasta for dinner.******

********** **

**Miss you lots xxxx I love you**

* * * * * *

Louis hopped on the bus and sat down next to an Indian man he vaguely recognised as a professor in the Physics department. He got off at Christ’s College and walked all the way down Market Street and St. Mary’s to the Senate House Passage. It was a relatively long trek to Fellows’ Garden, but the sun was shining (albeit weakly) and he was quite sure he needed the stroll—spending all day running experiments and recording data didn’t exactly result in perfectly toned calves. Harry had said he’d be sitting on a bench and, true to his word, there he was. Louis could make out his oversized grey jumper, sunglasses, and lopsided smile from all the way across the grass.

“Hey,” he said, loping over. “Sorry, got a bit caught up.”

“Wasn’t waiting long.” Harry slid over to make room, so Louis sat. “Been revising all the chemical compound stuff we went over yesterday in my head. _Ionic bonding typically occurs between a metal and a nonmetal, or between any atoms with a large difference in electronegativity._ You’re a fantastic teacher.”

“Brilliantly recited,” Louis grinned. “And I’m the very best. Alright, what’s the electrostatic force that holds atoms together?”

“ _E_ equals two-point-three-one times ten to the negative nineteenth times _Q_ 1 _Q_ 2 over _r_. See, I know it!”

“ _Units_ , Harry, come _on_.”

“Erm.” Harry giggled nervously. “Well, the two-point-three-one is Joules times Newton metres...and the _Q_ ’s are charges, and _r_ is a radius, so metres again…yeah?”

“Fine,” Louis nodded his head. There was a pause. “I was debating whether or not you’d need to know this stuff, so let me ask. Has Dr. Keeler lectured your class on binding energy?”

The boy beside him shook his head of silky curls, lip stuck out in a sort of pout. “No, not that I recall.”

Louis was struggling internally, here, and on more levels than one. “Right, nevermind, we don’t have to talk about it. I just thought I’d make sure, because—well, honestly, some of my favourite undergraduate work was with nuclear binding energy, but—”

Harry was one of those people who bounced his knees when he was seated, Louis noticed. “No, tell me about it!” He whined. “It’s okay, I want to learn. Especially if it’s something you care about.”

And, well, Louis couldn’t argue with that. “Wicked. So when it’s used as a general term, binding energy is the energy needed to break up a system—any system, really, I suppose, if you’re talking on a simplistic level—into its constituent parts, the parts that make it up. But in a discussion of physical chemistry, like we’re having here, the most common type of binding energy is nuclear binding energy, which is the energy required to break apart a nucleus into—”

“Protons and neutrons,” Harry finished. “Right?”

“Exactly.” Louis wasn’t feeling a surprising gush of pride, definitely not. “So you have this nucleus, yeah? Which is, quite literally, the hub of _everything_. I mean, without a nucleus, it’s just—there’s nothing, that’s it. Rather simple, honestly. And this _centre_ , this massively important structure, is composed of protons and neutrons. We know all that now. The thing is, though, that the mass of a nucleus is always— _always_ —less than the sum of each individual proton’s and neutron’s mass all added together. That’s called the mass defect. And what scientists have found, essentially, is that the missing mass—the defect, sorry—that bit is converted to a form of energy. And the difference is a measure of the nuclear binding energy that holds the nucleus together.”

Louis watched Harry inhale, expression changing from pensive to something unreadable to pensive again. He was chewing on his bottom lip, and it was now chapped and obscenely red. Louis swallowed.

“So it’s like…” Harry began to speak, then trailed off. “It’s like, we all have—humans, we have this mental and emotional capacity, I guess? And we can only take so much before we break. Is it sort of like that?”

Louis hesitated. He’d never before liked making analogies in science; after all, science was _science_ for a reason: it was exact, measurable; every law was a law because it could be replicated over and over again with the same results each time. There was nothing descriptive or free-form about it; there were numbers and facts and rules, and that was that. Harry, though—Harry was a walking analogy. Louis wondered if maybe he could make a trillion beautiful analogies and never quite formulate an accurate representation of the boy seated beside him on the bench.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “Yeah, sort of. Like, here—say you have two people. They’re in some sort of mutually dependent relationship—”

Harry smirked. “They fuck.”

“Christ, no, that’s not what I meant. Harry, this is a _theoretical explanation_.” Louis’ tongue felt unwieldy inside his mouth. “So, we have two people in a _mutually dependent relationship_ , and there are all these outside forces bombarding them all the time. Work, finances, time management, intrinsic relations between themselves, extrinsic relations with other people—family, friends, coworkers, whatever. There are all these things that need their attention all the time, and there are only twenty-four hours in a day, so naturally, there’s only so much they can accomplish. But because they’re in their relationship, they…”

All of a sudden, Louis’ throat tightened painfully. Harry stared at him. “Because they’re in this relationship, they have to work together, you know?” His palms began to sweat; he jammed them into his pockets. “But there’s no time, because they have these forces coming at them from all angles. And no matter how little they sleep, or how much they try to accomodate everything, there is only so much they can balance before the bonds that tie them together shatter, and they can’t hold their relationship—their system—together anymore.”

God, Louis couldn’t breathe.

It was quiet for a very long time.

“I think I get it,” Harry said finally. Softly, gently, like he himself was trying to hold the air between them together. “The nucleus comes under stress, or something, I don’t know, and the mechanical energy it ultimately requires for it to all fall apart, that’s—that’s binding energy.”

“Yeah, you got it.” Louis’ voice faltered.

Harry looked up, squinting at the sun. “Is there some sort of—I mean, this is going to sound stupid, because I don’t know all the technical terms, but…is there some sort of opposite, or whatever? Like, a nuclear force that resists breakage? To counter the forces that might threaten the nucleus from breaking apart?”

Louis tried not to cry right there, sitting in the middle of the Clare College garden with a boy who was, quite probably, the best friend he’d had in ages. “No,” he uttered, not trusting his own voice. “No, not really. There’s the nuclear force itself, but there’s nothing else to—to prevent any sort of break down. Obviously, the nucleus holds itself together, and that force is a whole other discussion we can have another time, but there’s nothing in nature like what you’re getting at, to minimize the effect of those mechanical forces that define binding energy. A force that comes in when the nucleus is under stress specifically to help it stabilise again. No, there’s nothing like that.”

Harry nodded. “Okay.”

And Louis, well. Louis’ whole body throbbed. He knew full well that cardiac dysrhythmia was a very serious, very physiologically grounded condition, but at the moment, he couldn’t think of any other explanation to help him grasp the way his heart twisted itself into a knot every time he breathed.

* * * * * *

But they made progress.

Louis’ lungs regained their normal functions, and the cloud over his head lifted slowly as Harry made well-needed (if a bit long-winded) jokes about Peterhouse and Pembroke. They made progress, and Louis’ fingers sort of tingled.

“Tell me the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you.”

Louis balked. In better days, he could’ve had a snarky retort dripping off his tongue in seconds. Instead, he stammered, “Why?”

At least Harry laughed. “‘Cos I want to know. You’re always so…together is the word, maybe. I want to hear about the times Louis Tomlinson’s been humiliated.”

“You’ll laugh at me.”

“Isn’t that the point? C’mon, indulge me. Bet mine’s worse.”

Louis tried to ignore the way Harry was batting his eyelashes, he really did. “You go first.”

This didn’t seem to faze the boy at all. “Okay. I was sixteen, and I was home for the summer, working in a bakery.”

“You worked in a bakery? Why haven’t you told me that before?”

“‘Cos it’s not relevant. Anyway, I was working—”

“It’s _absolutely_ relevant. You’re not paying me for these tutoring sessions, which is fine, but I wouldn’t mind some baked goods every once in a while.”

Flustered, Harry spread his (unnecessarily large) hands out over his kneecaps. “I’ll pay you, if you like. M’sorry, I don’t have—”

“Oh, for God’s sakes, I’m talking about baked goods, and you focus on the sarcastic joke as if I meant it.” Louis poked Harry’s dimple, the one he got when he was either thinking, frowning, or grinning. “Even if you _tried_ to pay me, I wouldn’t accept. I mean, let’s be honest—half the time, we’re just chatting, having a laugh. I don’t think I’ve really helped you with chemistry much at all.”

Harry pouted. “You have! I’ve understood the textbook better, and I’m focusing more in class…”

“Shut up and finish your story. And bring me baked goods sometime.”

Harry bit his lip, smiling like he had a secret. “Where did I leave off? Yeah, I was working at this bakery back home. My sister was at uni, so it was just me and my mum and my stepdad, except they left to go on vacation for a week. I would get up at seven-thirty to be in the shop by eight. I had one lunch break between twelve and twelve-thirty, and then I went home after closing at five. Two on Sundays.”

“This isn’t a funny story.”

“Hey, hold on, it’s coming. And it’s not _necessarily_ supposed to be funny, it’s just supposed to be _embarrassing_. Not synonymous, those two.”

Louis smirked. “Look at you, using big boy words.”

“ _Anyway_ , I was royally bored that summer.” The flush in Harry’s cheeks made him look…God, Louis wasn’t sure how to describe it. Sinful, maybe. “Most of my friends were at camp or on vacation or visiting family, and I was stuck in Holmes Chapel working every day. I had nothing to do, so…there’s no good way to explain this. I was horny all the time.”

Louis almost shrieked. “Harry!”

“What—I was sixteen! You were sixteen as well, once, you know. I was rather horny, and I met a bloke who was several years older than I was, and I thought he was the greatest thing to ever happen to me. He asked me…he asked for me to take a picture of myself naked and send it to him, and I…I did it.”

Louis’ heart was racing now. He was pretty sure his chemistry tutee had just indirectly come out to him. And well, if Harry wasn’t going to make it a big deal, Louis wouldn’t linger on it for another second. “Don’t they teach you in school not to _do_ that?” He squeaked. “God, Harry, you dolt! How could you—”

“No, no, let me finish. So I sent him this picture—it’s shit quality, completely embarrassing—and I was all smug because I thought I was a grown-up now, having a grown-up, sexual relationship. Two days later, my mum called from Barcelona, demanding to know why an unknown number had sent her a picture of her perfectly innocent baby boy with his willy out.”

“It got to your _mum_?”

“It got _everywhere_. My friends, people at school, the other girl working in the bakery with me…I was grounded for a week, and my mum took my phone and sent me to sex education classes. I never saw the lad again, and I went back to school with my head down. It followed me for a few months, at least. Died down over the winter, but…every time I think about it, I get a whole new wave of embarrassment all over again, you know? It was _awful_. I really thought it was the end of the world, for a while.”

Louis was giddy, and he had no idea why. “Well, now you’ve _got_ to show me the picture.”

Harry’s eyes went wide. “Are you kidding? Never in a _million_ years. I’ve destroyed that image on so many levels. I don’t think I have a copy to show you even if I wanted to. But no, _never_.”

Louis wiggled closer, ducking his head to blink up at Harry’s scarlet face. “ _Please_?”

“No.”

“Come on, you’re no fun. You can’t tell a story like that and then not show me.”

“Yes I very well can. I think it’s your turn.”

Louis wavered, reluctant. “Can’t think of one.”

“Oh, don’t even _try_ that with me,” Harry groaned. “Everyone’s got an embarrassing story. I don’t care if you’re the Queen of England, you’ve definitely had a wee in your trousers or fallen in a public square or _something_.” He paused. “Hey, I’ve just thrown myself out of the closet to you for the first time, all while letting you know that I sent a dick pic to a guy when I was sixteen. It’s only fair.”

So now they were acknowledging it. And he was right, of course. Louis sighed. “Fine, you win. I’ve got one.”

Harry beamed. “Hit me.”

“I was in Churchill College, and first year, I had two other suitemates, Nathan and Rahim. Nathan played footie on a squad that was more organised than the pickup teams I played with on weekends, and Rahim studied medicine and theology mainly. It was October, so we’d only been in Cambridge two months, but we were decent mates, I reckon.”

Louis bit his tongue accidentally and winced. “There was this party at Girton across the way, and we all went, along with a bunch of our other mates. It was the first party I’d been to at uni where everyone was drinking heavily. I’d been to a bunch of parties with alcohol, but it’d never been—this was different. People were vomiting and passing out and having sex on chairs by the end of it. It was horrible, honestly. I got absolutely smashed.”

Harry grinned, and Louis tried to keep the heaviness out of his voice. “I was taking shots and drinking straight tequila and all of a sudden I couldn’t even remember my own name, you know? I mean, not literally, but I couldn’t tell up from down and I had no idea where I was at any given time. I’d be in the main room one second, and then the next I’d been in the washroom vomiting, and I had no idea how I got there. I was that sort of bladdered.”

Deep breaths, that was all. Louis took a deep breath. “I sort of—this guy, Hugh, he was the most popular bloke in the circles I hung out with. He played rugby and rowed crew and he had biceps like—like, as big as my head. Anyway, I had a stupid crush, and I was so fucking drunk, so I just—I kissed him? I mean, we were talking, and then I just snogged him, tongue and everything. And the whole room sort of stopped, even I remember that. I wasn’t out to anyone, but like—then I was, and that was it.

“First, it got weirdly quiet. Everyone saw, or if they didn’t see, they heard in the next thirty seconds. Hugh shoved me so hard I vomited again. I don’t remember what happened very well, but I ended up outside on the lawn in front of Girton Hall, and there were a whole bunch of people around me. Someone had dumped beer all over me, so I was soaked and shivering. And they were taunting me; I reckon that’s what you’d call it. They called me a faggot and took off all my clothes and left me there. I passed out.”

Judging from the silence that descended the moment Louis stopped talking, he thought it rather safe to assume that his story didn’t exactly fit in the category Harry had been going for.

“Shit,” Harry whistled finally. “Louis, I…”

Naturally, Louis tried to laugh it off. “Don’t, it’s not a big deal. I’m completely over it. I was humiliated until winter exams, but after that, I just shrugged it off. Roll with the punches is what they say, yeah? I hardly think about it anymore. But yeah, that’s my embarrassing story.”

Harry looked like he was about to vomit himself. Louis wanted to shove every word back down his throat again. “Okay,” the boy said slowly. “As long as you’re not…”

“Seriously, I mean it,” Louis insisted. “I’m a big boy now, with my big boy trousers on. I’m comfortable and proud of who I am, even though that sounds stupid to say, you know? And I had a whole bunch of new mates after that who really helped. It’s just a funny story to me now, honest. Please don’t look at me like I just told you I’m homeless.”

Harry laughed softly. “Reckon we’ve just got the coming-out stories over with.”

Louis smiled. “Reckon we have.”

There was another pause, but this time, it wasn’t so weighted. “Time for happy stories,” Harry said, with that disgustingly sweet half-smile Louis had grown vulnerable to. “I’ve got a few.”

“No, time for acids and bases, actually,” Louis replied. “We’ve been sitting here three-quarters of an hour, and only a fraction of that time was spent on chemistry. May I remind you I’m here to help you pass your only science course?”

Louis wasn’t sure what he said, exactly, but it seemed to make Harry’s smile fall. “Right,” he murmured. “Sorry, I—let’s get to it, then.”

Louis was about ready to launch into a lecture on the pH scale when he began to notice raindrops smattering across his skin. Harry cleared his throat. “Is that—”

“Rain,” Louis finished, holding out his hand to catch the droplets. “Shit.”

They stood, and almost instantly, the sky opened up and the drizzling rain turned into heavy sheets. “Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “It was sunny a minute ago.”

“The chapel’s closest,” Harry uttered, grabbing Louis’ wrist as they began to run for cover. “Follow me, it’ll be open.”

Harry didn’t let go until the Clare College chapel was in sight. They leapt over little puddles that were already beginning to form in the paths, laughing as they realised there was no point in trying to stay dry. Harry did a horrific ballerina impression, jumping into the air and twirling around with his hands flailing above his head, and Louis swallowed at least a cup of rainwater giggling at him.

They finally made it to the chapel doors and huddled under the overhang, which protected them almost fully from the sudden afternoon downpour. Their laughter fizzled out, but their smiles remained.

“That was exciting,” Harry laughed. “A perfect setup for a discussion of acid rain.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “C’mon, why are we standing out here? Let’s go in.”

He turned and reached for the door handle, but then he felt Harry’s warm palm close around his forearm. “Wait.”

“I’m still getting wet! The overhang isn’t long enough to—”

“Just wait one second.” Harry paused, not speaking again until Louis turned round. “I know there’s no way to say this without sounding—you’re going to laugh at me, but…I wanted to tell you how much I—I like you, and—”

“Harry, please, I’m soaked. If you want to tell me how much you appreciate me tutoring you for free, do it inside—”

“No, it’s not—”

Louis moaned. “It’s _pouring_ —”

“Fuck.”

And then, they were kissing.

God, Louis didn’t know _how_ it happened, but it was _happening_. Harry lunged forward, closing the space between them, and attached their water-soaked lips in a kiss that unravelled Louis so fully he whimpered. The younger boy held his face in both hands, and their chests brushed together, and their toes touched, and _fuck_ , they were both drenched, but Harry was still _warm_. He radiated heat through the tips of his fingers and the softness of his breath and the proximity of their bodies and Louis drank it in. He took and took and took until he could barely breathe, until it was really only Harry’s hands holding him together.

A tongue ghosted across Louis’ lower lip and just like that, Harry was gone, and there was an entire atmosphere between them. It took his vision a few seconds to clear the blurriness and focus again, but when it did, Louis saw Harry staring at him with shining eyes.

“You’re a great tutor, Louis.” Harry’s voice was low and hoarse, his gaze fixed. “So no offense, but I’m bloody tired of that. I _like_ you. I know you’re a graduate student and I’m a first year, but Christ, I want you to look at me and see…I don’t know. I want you to see what _I_ see when I look at you. Because I can’t stand it anymore. I’ve lo—since the very first day I saw you, I knew—I’m sorry. I don’t want any more of this student-tutor bullshit anymore. I want _you_.”

Yeah, Louis couldn’t breathe.

It was like Harry had carefully and methodically drained every bit of life from deep within his bones, and when their lips separated, Louis simply deflated, empty. He hadn’t been kissed like that since—no, scratch that, he’d never been kissed like that before in his whole _life_. Devastating, encompassing…rain was dripping down Harry’s face and falling off his nose, and Louis honestly couldn’t _breathe_.

Harry stepped forward, closing the distance so he loomed over Louis’ smaller frame. He entwined their fingers together, and once again, his warmth was startling. “Say something,” he whispered, reaching up to brush a thumb just beneath Louis’ lip. “Anything.”

“Niall,” Louis croaked weakly. “I—Niall.”

A little divot formed between Harry’s eyebrows. “Yes, your inconsiderate genius flatmate who never comes home and doesn’t bother to let you know where he is, I know. I don’t want to talk about Niall.” He leaned in closer, eyelids heavy. “Louis, please. I really—”

“No, no. Not my flatmate, Niall is my—Niall is my boyfriend.”

Harry froze. He released his grip on Louis immediately, and all the colour drained from his cheeks. “Your—what? Hold on, I don’t—”

“Niall is my boyfriend,” Louis repeated, and really, he wasn’t sure whom he was repeating it for the most.

“No,” the boy murmured. “He’s—you never said—you told me he was your flatmate. You…you kissed me _back_. I don’t understand—”

Louis’ throat constricted painfully. “I’m sorry, Harry, I never meant to—”

“You led me on!” Harry’s voice cracked. “You never corrected me, you never told me, you never…you should’ve _said_ something. Why didn’t you say something?”

“I don’t know,” Louis choked out. “It didn’t seem important. A relationship is a private thing, and it didn’t seem necessary to—”

“Yeah, it’s a private thing, but it’s not so private that you can’t tell me when it’s so blatantly obvious I’m falling—when you can _tell_ I fancy you!” Harry ran a hand through his wet hair. “You shouldn’t have let me fall for you like that. It’s not—it’s just not fair.”

Louis shook his head vigorously. “I couldn’t tell. I had no idea, I—”

Harry turned before Louis could finish and slipped inside the chapel. The door closed with a loud _thud_ , and then Louis was alone.

He debated leaving. He could go, he could walk away, and he could hope that Harry worked it all out on his own. It would be better that way, if he was true to himself. He knew it was often easier to get over rejection when the object of one’s affection wasn’t there to bring all the emotions back. Maybe Harry would take some time to recover and then resume chemistry lessons, or maybe he wouldn’t hear from the boy again. All things considered, Louis knew he should probably leave.

He didn’t.

There was a magnet in Harry’s chest, he was sure of it. He opened the chapel door and slipped inside, shaking out his wet hair. The building was empty except for a mop of curly hair attached to hunched shoulders in one of the pews closer to the front. The acoustics of the vaulted ceilings were so good that Louis could hear Harry’s choppy breaths.

He walked carefully forward, each step he took resounding with a sharp _click_. Harry sniffled and his head dropped into his hands. When Louis made it to the pew, he didn’t look up.

“Hey.”

Harry didn’t answer. Louis slid over and took a seat next to him. Their knees bumped, just like that very first day.

“Would you look at me?”

Harry shook his head.

“That’s fine, I get it. Just listen, okay? I’m really, really sorry.”

“Please don’t say that.”

Harry’s voice was shattered, and the sound of it breaking on each syllable made Louis tremble. “Maybe you don’t want to hear it, but really, I am. I need you to understand that, okay?”

Again, Harry didn’t answer. Louis felt like he’d been punched in the stomach.

They sat in silence for a while, and Harry’s breathing gradually evened out. Louis shuffled a little closer, nudging Harry with his elbow. “For the record, I like you too, you know.”

For the first time, Harry looked up. “Yeah, maybe, but not the way I like you.”

“Maybe not. But I like you a lot. I’ve been happier these few weeks knowing you than I’ve been in a long time.”

The boy beside him laughed bitterly. “You’re not helping.”

“Sorry.”

There was another long silence, until finally, Harry cleared his throat. “How long?”

“What do you mean?”

“You and Niall, how long—how long have you been together? A few months?”

Louis pursed his lips. “Bit over a year.”

And Harry whistled through his teeth. The words floated up to the ceiling above their heads and loomed there, fat and heavy and unwanted, until Louis couldn’t take it anymore. “Let’s go.”

Harry furrowed his brow. “Where? It’s still raining.”

“Yeah, but we’re already wet. Let’s go back to my flat and make cocoa and pretend nothing happened. There are a few things I wanted to go over with you for the exam you mentioned, actually. We can go back to normal.”

“No,” Harry said, rather decisively. “It won’t go back to normal, and I don’t want to forget. I think—I think that might’ve been the best kiss I’ve ever had in my life.”

They looked at each other for the first time, and Harry’s eyes were glassy, and Louis could see every single smile and every single laugh inside of them. He could see Harry’s face just before they came together, and he could see the door closing afterwards. Holding Harry’s gaze right there in the chapel pew, Louis noticed every cell in his body begin to ache.

“I know,” he heard himself say. “Me too.”

The way Harry’s exhale was almost a chuckle broke Louis’ heart in two. “I don’t exactly feel like revising chemistry, either.”

“Fine, then. We’ll go back to my flat and drink cocoa and have a nice chat. We can watch a film or something. Unless you’d rather not see me, which I understand.”

Harry stared at him, then shook his head, almost in disbelief. “Okay,” he said finally. “Okay, let’s go.”

* * * * * *

Fifteen minutes later, they were trekking up the stairs to Louis’ flat, once again drenched from the rain.

“I like that you like Regina Spektor just as much as I do,” Louis was saying. “And I like the way you talk.”

Harry frowned. “How do I talk?”

“Slowly,” Louis laughed. “Slowly, carefully, like you think about everything you say, but not too hard. It’s good, the Cheshire drawl.”

“S’not a _drawl_.”

“Whatever you say. I like your hair, too. Always wanted curls. And I like your dimple, and your stupid ratty t-shirts with holes in them, and the way you talk about your family. Oh, and I like the way you stick your tongue out when you eat.”

Harry gaped. “I don’t!”

“You _do_.”

They came to the landing and walked slowly down the hall to Louis’ door. He stopped them there, turning to face Harry. “Just hold on a second,” he murmured. “I want you to know that I—you do mean a lot to me, okay? It’s not that I don’t—I don’t know how to say this, but maybe if…if things were different.”

“If you weren’t dating Niall.”

Louis winced. “Maybe if things were different, and I’d met you…look, just know that I care about you loads, and it would really hurt if this was…if this was the end, I guess. You’re my friend now, you know? I don’t—I don’t want you to go anywhere.”

Harry sighed. “I don’t know. It’s hard.”

Louis bit his lip and nodded. “Well, maybe cocoa will make things easier.” He drew out his key and turned the lock, pushing the door open easily. “I’m just going to grab something out of my room; you can follow me.”

Harry trailed a step behind, hands shoved in his pockets. “It’s this brilliant model someone made of a helium nucleus,” Louis explained as they went. “It was a gift from my favourite professor—oh.”

They were stood together in the doorway of his room, but they weren’t alone. Niall and a young bloke with dark skin and jet-black hair were entwined together, very obviously naked and only half covered by the sheets.

Louis felt bile rising in his throat.

“Holy shit,” Niall exclaimed, leaping away from the boy in his bed and shimmying into a pair of pants. “I thought you were going to be out all afternoon with—Louis, no, it’s not what you think.”

Louis could feel himself detaching from his body and floating up in the air, watching the scene in slow motion from above. “It’s exactly what I think,” he breathed, staring as the unfamiliar man in his bed tried to shrink himself under the covers. “Oh my God, this is really happening.”

“No, it’s not,” Niall insisted, rushing over as he struggled to find his trousers. “I’m so sorry, it was a complete mistake—”

“Shut up,” Louis commanded softly. “Shut up, just stop talking. I don’t want to see you.”

For the first time, he noticed Harry, still stood there beside him with his jaw agape.

“I need to get out of here,” he said.

“Louis—” Harry’s voice was tight.

“No, babe, hold on, let me explain!” Niall shouted after him, but Louis was already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok yeah comments n that !! i'm enjoying writing this v much and if u read this ur a rockstar xxxxx


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